Strange New Material
by silverjigsaw
Summary: Hermione has been accepted as a student to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...no joke! But will the students accept her?
1. The Letter

Hermione has always been my favorite character, no matter what ship she's in. She intelligent, trustworthy,and hard-working, two things I wish I was and one of which I don't do anything with. I've always wondered what a Muggle-born would think of getting into Hogwarts.

My first Harry Potter fanfic, by the way. I don't know if it's decent or not; I was just inspired to write it.

It should go without saying, by the way, but I don't own this madness, JK Rowling does. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

_Typee_, by Herman Melville. She had tried before to read Melville. That had been _Moby Dick_. So many English professors had said _that_ was _such_ a great book, that she thought that any school would be impressed by an eleven-year-old girl who had already read it. The first line: _Call me Ishmael_, and the rest of it was 611 pages of lid-droppingly boring _staring at whales_. When she had returned it in a fury to the library, the librarian, Mrs. Sedgwick, had suggest _Typee_ as an alternative. "Something actually happens in it," Mrs. Sedgwick had said. "It's very exciting."

"But it's not Moby Dick," Hermione had argued. "Everyone reads Moby Dick."

"I know," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "But you're not everyone, are you?"

That advice was so used-up. She read the book anyway. Perhaps they would be impressed that she had read something lesser-known by Herman Melville.

It was very exciting indeed. As she read, she especially enjoyed the comparisons between the Western society (which sometimes meant America, where the narrator came from, and sometimes Europe) and the "savage" society that the main characters had fallen into. Although the cannibals depended on magic as their religion and didn't have any technology, they were very happy and decent people.

"Hermione!"

She sighed and looked up from her book. "Yes, mother?"

"There's a letter for you."

She went downstairs, curious. There was never a letter for her this time of year. Her eleventh birthday wasn't until spring, and it was summertime, so Christmas was far away. And she had Instant Messenger on her computer, so her friends didn't need to send her anything.

The letter was in very fine ink writing, addressed to her, plainly.

Hermione Granger

The Second Bedroom Upstairs

Lincolnton, Wessex

With a little surprise at the address, Hermione opened the letter. It told her, in plain words, that she had been accepted to a Hogwarts School For Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was signed, _Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_.

She laughed.

"What is it?" her mother asked. "What does the letter say?"

She looked at the next page. It was a list of books to be gotten before the semester began. Books on Magical Herbs and a Basic Book of Spells, Level One.

"It's a joke," she said. "I've been accepted into a magic school." She showed her mother the list of required books. Her mother laughed at it, too; they threw the letter away, and Hermione mentioned it in her online diary as something very strange.

* * *

She returned _Typee_ to Mrs. Sedgwick. 

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

"Very much," said Hermione. "Thank you for recommending it."

"I've always like you," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "You're so smart. You're so different, you know."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

"That is why," said Mrs. Sedgwick, "I would like to take you to Diagon Alley."

"What is that?"

"It's where you'll need to buy your school books," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "We don't have books on Magical Herbs here, you know."

Hermione stared at her.

"I'm a Squib," sighed Mrs. Sedgwick. "It's a Muggle born into a magic family. You're a Witch born into a Muggle family."

Hermione still stared.

"You'll see," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "We'll tell your parents we're going book shopping. We just won't tell her what kind of books, hmm?"

Hermione still stared.

"You can think about it," said Mrs. Sedgwick.

* * *

"Am I going to be the only Muggle-born?" Hermione asked on the train ride home. 

"Probably not," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Don't worry about it, though. I've heard that everyone catches up rather quickly."

Hermione despised catching up. She had been sick when she was eight years old, and had stayed in bed for three weeks straight getting over it. She had nearly failed and almost had to repeat the third grade. Frightened of staying behind her friends, she worked for an entire week straight to turn in all the missing assignments, along with her regular assignments. It would be horrible to have to repeat that.

She opened up the first book and began reading. She looked to memorize the material. The other students would have grown up knowing this stuff. No one would call her anything more than ordinary when she got to that school.


	2. The Leaky Cauldron

Well, I was going to skip right to King's Cross in the interest of chronology, but it seemed people were interested in this, too. So we'll make this about Hermione's introduction to the Magic society instead.

Well, I don't own Harry Potter (or Hermione Granger, for that matter). It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Oh, and: fifty points to anyone who can tell me where the name "Sedgwick" came from.

Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

"I think this is the right street," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Is this the right street? Can you tell?"

"What am I looking for?"

Mrs. Sedgwick looked at a slip of paper in her hands. "The Leaky Cauldron."

Hermione stood on her tiptoes and looked around again, peering her head back and forth. She pushed her brown bush of hair out of the way and squinted off down the street. There, farther down, with peeling green paint and odd golden letters, was a sign that read _The Leaky Cauldron_.

"Is that it?"

"Where?"

Hermione pointed.

"Oh, heavens, I wouldn't know," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "I've never been there, to be honest. But you think it's down there?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, suddenly doubting the sanity of her guide. She followed the peppery-haired librarian down the road. "Tell me when we get there," said Mrs. Sedgwick. Hermione gave her a little distance. Mrs. Sedgwick stopped and waited for Hermione to walk up to her.

"Heavens! You'd think you'd never been to the city before. I need you to keep up with me and tell me when we get there. Here, hold my hand." Mrs. Sedgwick gripped her hand tightly, and Hermione felt defeated. They continued on again, until they walked to the Leaky Cauldron.

They walked _past_ the Leaky Cauldron.

"Mrs. Sedgwick?"

She stopped. "Is it here?"

"We walked right past it."

"Oh," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Well. I told you to tell me when we get there. I can't see it."

"Why not?" Hermione looked at the two hands gripped together. What was _wrong_ with her?

"I'm a Squib, remember?"

"A Muggle born into a Magick family," said Hermione.

"Exactly," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "You can see things that I can't. Come on, take me inside."

Frowning, Hermione led Mrs. Sedgwick inside the little pub. She opened the door and was surprised when Mrs. Sedgwick held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't open them, didn't release her breath, until the door slammed shut behind them.

Hermione stared. This was a Magick pub? It looked like any other, dark and broken down. A well-worn bartender wiped transparent glasses and chatting with a skinny little man at the bar; a man in a turban sat silently by himself, sipping from a mug; some old women sat drinking from shot glasses. They really did look like Witches, so Hermione wanted to introduce herself to them. Another woman sat puffing on a pipe, swirling her brandy glass around.

"Can you see them?" Hermione whispered.

"Of course," said Mrs. Sedgwick. She released Hermione's hand, wiped them on her skirt, and approached the bar. "Excuse me."

The hairless bartender smiled and approached them.

"First time here?" he asked.

"Hi," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "We," she gestured to Hermione and herself, "Need to get into Diagon Alley and I was told someone at the bar could help us? I'm a Squib and she…" Mrs. Sedgwick's voice faded out.

"Alright," said the Bartender. "Follow me."

He smiled down at Hermione as he stepped out from the bar, and led them into the back. He took out a long stick from his apron pocket. Hermione gasped. The stick must be his Magic Wand! She was about to see Magick, for the first time in her whole life! She looked so she wouldn't miss a thing. Was he going to say a poem or a word, or sing, or maybe wave it funny? Was there going to be bright lights everywhere?

He tapped a brick three times and put the wand back in his pocket.

Hermione swallowed a moan of disappointment.

Then the brick he tapped began to move. Hermione stared. All the bricks around it began to wiggle and squirm, and they jumped away from each other, like they were dancing, until there was a huge arch where there had just been a wall.

And then they were _there_. It was bright and noisy and somehow clean, and Mrs. Sedgwick put her hand on Hermione's shoulder just before she ran out into the middle of it. She took Hermione's hand (it was tight and trembling – was she _scared_?), and led her inside one step at a time.


	3. Gringotts

I don't know how long it's been since I updated, but oh well. I noticed, reading over the last chapter, that I forgot to thank everyone who corrected my McGonagall mistake - thanks! And thanks for reading this!

Well, the genius is all J.K. Rowling's, I'm just messing with it the same way the wind messes with a haircut. Enjoy!

-_The Author_

* * *

"Here's the famous place," said Mrs. Sedgwick.

Hermione stared. At long last, this _really_ felt Magical. A cauldron shop – of course, witches had to get their cauldrons from _somewhere_. The sun shone brightly, and Hermione winced at the shininess of the cauldrons, but still she stared, imagining when she could have a cauldron of her very own. _Eye of newt and speckled toad…_She wanted a self-stirring one. How useful would that be!

An apothecary – so witches didn't need to go hunting for their newt eyes! Hermione was learning already. She nearly skipped with glee. There was an owl shop – owls? – and a broomstick shop – when she was in fourth grade, she had played a witch in a school play (and did a very good job at it, too, she thought, maybe that was prophetic), and she'd got to fly a bit on a broomstick, in front of a big light made to look like the moon. She wanted so bad to fly a real broomstick. There were telescopes and more apothecaries, groceries and bat stores, a bookstore-

"Mrs. Sedgwick!" she cried. "Let's start there!"

Oh, how fascinating it would be to read books by witches! About witch hunts and stories about magical creatures that might even be _real_, who knew? Maybe there were some authors she had heard of in there! What a strange thought! What did they think about Muggles? And most importantly, what did they think of themselves? Her fingers nearly ached with longing to wrap themselves around a history book.

"We'll start at Gringotts," said Mrs. Sedgwick.

"Gringotts?" Hermione asked.

"There," she pointed a dry white hand.

It was bright white and taller than all the other buildings. The thick, heavy bronze doors showed clearly that it was a bank.

"That makes sense," said Hermione. She hadn't realized witches needed different money than Muggles. As they approached the bank, she realized there was a creature not quite human at the door. It was as small as she, a little smaller, even, and was dark and goateed, and a long, mischievous smile. She noticed as the creature held open the door that it had exceedingly long fingers, with four long knuckles. She tried not to stare, but as the creature bowed, it said, "I'm a Goblin, little girl."

"Oh," said Hermione. "I'm sorry. I'm a witch. Hermione Granger."

The Goblin merely smiled as he closed the door.

"Mrs. Sedgwick!" Hermione cried. "That's a Goblin!" And there were two more in front of them, at either side of the silver doors.

"I know!" said Mrs. Sedgwick. "I've never seen one before, either!"

Hermione turned to look at the silver doors before them now. She read the poem aloud: "'_Enter, stranger, but take heed, of what awaits the sin of greed. For those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn. So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours, thief, you have been warned, beware, of finding more than treasure there._' Neat!"

Two more Goblins let them in with a bow, and Hermione stared at the room. It was something like the bank in _Mary Poppins_ but friendlier, somehow. All was made of marble and lit by fire. She skipped among the darkened spots of the stone and recited to Mrs. Sedgwick the process of creating marble. Here was something the magicians had never tried to figure out, she was sure.

There were many more Goblins – hundreds! – all busy with customers and counting, with brass scales and small eyeglasses. Mrs. Sedgwick led the way to a free Goblin.

"We'd like to make an exchange," she said. Hermione stood very calm and still beside her. She knew, from trips to the bank with her parents, that a child's duty was to remain very calm and quiet and not to fidget or play with anything or they could get thrown out. Mrs. Sedgwick took her wallet out from her purse and handed over the money her parents had given them, and, to Hermione's surprise, something a little bit extra. "Just in case," Mrs. Sedgwick whispered with a wink.

The Goblin smiled down at Hermione and said, "Well, you look like you're about to go to Hogwarts."

It took only a second for Hermione to remember that was the name of the Magic School. "Yes, sir," she said.

"Are you excited?"

"Yes, sir!"

"She's a polite girl," said the Goblin, rummaging around in his drawers.

"The very best," said Mrs. Sedgwick, looking at Hermione. Hermione beamed.

The Goblin removed a long piece of paper from his desk drawer and looked through it. He hummed a moment as he took out another long piece of paper and a quill and an ink jar, and began scratching some figures. Hermione looked, but couldn't understand any of it. "I'm calculating the exchange rate so I know how much money you'll get," he explained.

Of course. Hermione felt silly for not guessing that before.

The Goblin did a final check of his figures, and then opened yet another drawer, and began putting coins in a pouch. Hermione gaped at the sight. Gold and silver and little bronze ones.

She would have gold!

The pouch was placed in Mrs. Sedgwick's bag. They thanked the Goblin, who said, "I would wish you good luck, but you're such a smart girl that you don't need it. So I say, goodbye." Thinking this was an odd farewell, Hermione simply said, "Thank you. Goodbye!" and was glad when they were ushered back outside.

"Now," said Hermione, "The bookstore!"


	4. Flourish and Blotts

My most sincere apologies for the long wait. For four days I've been locked out of for no particular reason. Ah well. Here's another chapter! Thank you for the reviews! **Important:**does anyone know what kind of wand Hermione has?

Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

It looked as if there wasn't a ceiling for Flourish and Blotts. It just went on forever. The bookshelves towered over Hermione's head – they must have been at least ten feet tall. In the distance, some people – witches? – were muttering.

"I prefer Chauncey to Lockhart, personally," said one.

"Oh, you would," sighed the other.

Mrs. Sedgwick and Hermione looked over her school list. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_, _A History of Magic_, _Magical Theory_, _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, _Magical Drafts and Where To Find Them_, _Fantastical Beasts and Where To Find Them_, and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_.

"Goodness, that's a lot," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Why, at Muggle school we hardly had to buy any."

"Let's split it in half," said Hermione. "You take four and I take four." She looked the list over, seeing which titles sounded the most interesting. She said, "I'll take the top half and you take the bottom."

That sounded like as good an idea as any. Hermione got to keep the list, and Mrs. Sedgwick wrote down the title and author names of her four books, and then set off towards the back of the store. "That's where they keep the Dark Arts books, probably."

Hermione had an instinct about bookstores; she turned left the first opportunity she could, and then took the third right, and found herself in the History aisle.

"Excellent," she said. Oh, yes, she would get to the other books eventually; but Hermione knew that she was going into a world she had never heard of. She needed books that would tell her _everything she needed to know_, and where better to start with than History?

The actual schoolbook was easy to find. It was by Bathilda Bagshot and was in the first bay of shelves. She walked among the books, and was disappointed to see they didn't have pictures on the front. In Muggle bookstores, there was such a trend, of putting good pictures on the cover, to catch the reader's eye. Witches seemed to demand more of the reader. She liked it.

_Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ – that sounded important. Everyone would talk about those, wouldn't they? And she needn't be lost, ever, in a conversation. She took the book off the shelf and sat down with it in her lap – it was too heavy to keep in her little hands. She couldn't wait until she was older and stronger. She flipped through the book. It had pictures of people she didn't recognize, wearing styles that were only a little familiar to her. She flipped back to a picture of a smiling old witch, but to her surprise, the woman was _gone_.

She looked through other pictures, closer. All the subjects of the photos had moved since she had last seen them. That one _had_ been holding up his wand heroically, but was now scratching his back with it. The handsome blonde man ("Gilderoy Lockhart") was actually _waving his hand_. The smiling old witch had returned, and was now rubbing her nose. The next picture surprised her. It was a whole family, a very happy family. They looked out of place amongst all the heroes in the books. The label underneath read "The Potter Family: Lily, Harry, and James." They seemed to be a very affectionate family, yes, but what was so great about them?

She read the article; we will paraphrase here. Lily and James Potter, sweethearts since their Hogwarts days, were members of the force fighting against You-Know-Who ("No, I don't," thought Hermione). They still had a happy home life, and their son, Harry, was born in July of 1986. In late October, 1987, You-Know-Who went to the Potter home and killed Lily and James (Hermione gasped – what about baby Harry?). You-Know-Who set his wand on Harry, and uttered the Unforgiveable Curse – but it was the Dark Lord himself who died. Somehow, a baby lived when hundreds of well-trained adults had died, and had saved the whole world. In closing, it simply noted that friends of the family had placed baby Harry with his Muggle relations, and was known the whole world over as The Boy Who Lived.

"Wow," said Hermione. How grand would that be! He probably didn't know that he was a wizard when he was growing up – how odd would it be, to not only find out that you're a wizard, but a _famous_ wizard? And it had seemed so special to just be a witch! She looked down at the picture of the Potters, and noticed the dates listed. She did some math in her head, and realized that Harry was just her age now.

She would be in the same grade as a world-famous wizard! Wouldn't it be wonderful if they became friends?

And even more exciting, right across the aisle from her was a book entitled _Hogwarts, A History._ She made a small cry of glee and grabbed that book, too, and nearly fell over under the weight of all three books. She looked at the list in her hand. She still had three books left to go. She left the History aisle, and wished she could stay longer.


	5. Ollivander's

Well, it just occurred to me that, as finals week is nigh, I have about five more days until I won't have internet for three months. I ought to finish this story, eh?

Not mine! Enjoy!

_-The Author_

* * *

"Hermione," said Mrs. Sedgwick as they walked out of the shop, "Would you mind if we got your wand next? I've never seen a wand being bought, and my brothers told me it was the most amazing experience." 

How could Hermione say no? What would happen? It was an _experience_? Was it a Magical experience?

Well, obviously, yes.

At the hot dog wizard's recommendation, they went all the way down to the corner of Knockturn and Diagon, where sat a tiny, vaguely decrepit shop. Unlike all the other shops, there was no sign on top of the building, but on the door. _Ollivander's: Maker of fine wands since 382 B.C._ The display window was narrow and tall, with a wand in the window lying on a pillow. Hermione stared at it a moment before she and Mrs. Sedgwick went inside. They smiled at each other. Mrs. Sedgwick seemed as excited as she did – very excited.

It was dark inside, and there wasn't anyone around. Somewhere a bell was ringing, but no one seemed to answer it. Hermione and Mrs. Sedgwick looked at each other.

"Is it open?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "The door's unlocked…"

"Good afternoon."

They jumped, and looked at the man standing before them; Mr. Ollivander, presumably. He was grey-haired and silver-eyed, and so old that Hermione wondered if the same Ollivander had been making fine wands since 382 B.C.

"Good afternoon," Hermione managed.

Mr. Ollivander circled closer. He seemed to enjoy the effect he was having on his two customers. He kept his eyes on Hermione – they were vaguely wet, perhaps with the effort of _not blinking_. Why wasn't he blinking? Was there someplace else they could buy a wand?

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "I'm here to buy a wand…for school…"

"This is your first time here," said Mr. Ollivander.

"Yes, sir," said Hermione. Mrs. Sedgwick sat down in the chair by the door. Had her clothes been a few shades darker, she might have disappeared into the shadows. Where were the lights in this shop?

"Let's begin," said Mr. Ollivander. He took a measuring tape from his pocket. "Hold out your wand arm," he said.

Hermione decided he must mean her dominant hand. She held out her right arm.

He began measuring.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Granger," he said. Hermione nodded. The measuring tape went from measuring the length of her arm to the length of shoulder to elbow. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons."

"Interesting," said Hermione. She hoped she got a wand with a unicorn hair in it. That sounded like the most pleasant of all the cores. She definitely didn't want one with a dragon heartstring in it. Poor dragon!

The measuring tape poked her arm. She moved it away; it ran the length from her elbow to her knee. It was then she noticed that Mr. Ollivander wasn't there anymore. He had disappeared behind some shelves.

"No two Ollivander wands are the same," he called, "Just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. And of course you'll never get such good results with another wizard's – witch's wand." He appeared around the corner now, bearing several boxes. "That will do," he said, and the measuring tape fell to the floor, looking like a sleeping snake. Hermione took a step back from it. "Try this one," he held out a wand. "Maple and phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy."

She waved it. Was she supposed to feel something?

He took it away and held out another one. "Oak and unicorn hair, fourteen inches…"

Still, nothing happened. Perhaps she was supposed to chant something?

"Willow and Unicorn hair, nine inches."

Nothing.

"Cedar and phoenix feather."

Nothing.

"Ah-ha, I think we should try some dragon heartstring, hm?" he asked. She wished he wouldn't. But he held one out anyway. It was dark reddish. It would have been pretty if a dragon hadn't had to die for it. "Mahogany and dragon heartstring, twelve inches exactly," he said. "Light, but powerful. Go on, try it."

She did. It felt warm in her hands, not like the others, and she lifted it up to wave – lights flew up to the ceiling, red and blue and yellow – they crashed into each other and made green and purple. Mrs. Sedgwick gasped and applauded. "Do it again!" she cried. _And Hermione did._

"I've just done magic," she said. The effect this had on her – _she had just done magic, and it was so easy!_ – she was silent for several minutes. She couldn't wait to do more.


	6. Another student

Okay, it's been eons, and I apologize. I barely had the internet, and then, when I did, I didn't have the slightest clue what to write. I hope this story is worth it!

With thanks to don't own this! Enjoy!

_-The Author_

* * *

A new letter arrived in the mail late in the summer. It was made of parchment, same as the original, with the same address, (Second Bedroom Upstairs, Lincolnton, Wessex), but the writing was different. Her parents watched as she opened it. They all bent down over the paper, but only Hermione could read it. Her parents were looking at it upside-down, after all.

"Oh!" she said.

Her parents jumped.

"Since I was born into a Muggle family, I get a guide to the Wizarding world!"

"Who?" Mom asked.

"Another student, just starting out at Hogwarts, too!" Hermione said. "It says that they hope that we will be great friends. He comes from an old Wizarding family."

"What's his name?" Dad asked.

Hermione read: "Neville Longbottom."

Her parents frowned.

"That's a good name," Mom said.

"Yes," Dad said. "Very, ah, fitting."

**/end**

A few letters were sent back and forth ("Haven't they heard of a telephone?" Mom sighed), and it was all arranged: Hermione was going to meet her first schoolmate! They were all going to have lunch at a restaurant in a town right in between Lincolnton and their town!

What was Hermione going to wear? She searched through her whole room for something that looked witchy. There was the black dress she had worn to Great-Uncle Jack's funeral. Too formal. The black slacks and a black t-shirt? Ugh. Black was not her color.

She went downstairs to ask her mother.

"Mom, what's my color?"

Mom didn't even look up from her cup of coffee. "Red or green."

Color! Hermione dashed upstairs. She opened up _Hogwarts: A History._ Colors were important at Hogwarts.

_After the four separate founders selected each their own students, they chose to mark and honor the students by giving them each robes of their favorite colour. Gryffindor chose for his students scarlet robes; Hufflepuff, yellow; Ravenclaw, blue; and Slytherin, green._

"Red or green." She flipped through to the back, to the brief biographies of the four founders. She would go with the color of whoever sounded the neatest. Red was the color of Gryffindor. Godric Gryffindor wanted students who were brave. Hermione didn't feel too brave. She was all shaken up over just meeting another wizard! Perhaps she ought to go with Slytherin's green?

Slytherin believed students should only be selected from "pure" students, whose whole family was Magick, as far back as anyone could tell. No half-bloods, and no muggle-borns. That sounded like racism! And it certainly excluded her!

She came downstairs to show her mother. She wore her red t-shirt and blue jeans. It was a nice t-shirt, and she had ironed it. She picked up her red hat from the front hallway, put it on, and paraded before the breakfast table.

"Very nice," her mother said. "Just one thing." She went to the hall closet, and picked up Hermione's blue hat. She exchanged the two hats, so she was wearing a blue hat and a red shirt. "I lied. Green isn't your color at all." Then she kissed her on the cheek. "You look lovely, darling."

"My hat was red."

"Matching accessories are out. Eat your breakfast."

Hermione sighed and ate her breakfast. Lunch was going to be so much more exciting!


	7. Trevor

Because you asked, another chapter up much more quickly than the last one! Enjoy!

--_The Author_

* * *

A new letter arrived in the mail late in the summer. It was made of parchment, same as the original, with the same address, (Second Bedroom Upstairs, Lincolnton, Wessex), but the writing was different. Her parents watched as she opened it. They all bent down over the paper, but only Hermione could read it. Her parents were looking at it upside-down, after all.

"Oh!" she said.

Her parents jumped.

"Since I was born into a Muggle family, I get a guide to the Wizarding world!"

"Who?" Mom asked.

"Another student, just starting out at Hogwarts, too!" Hermione said. "It says that they hope that we will be great friends. He comes from an old Wizarding family."

"What's his name?" Dad asked.

Hermione read: "Neville Longbottom."

Her parents frowned.

"That's a good name," Mom said.

"Yes," Dad said. "Very, ah, fitting."

**/end**

A few letters were sent back and forth ("Haven't they heard of a telephone?" Mom sighed), and it was all arranged: Hermione was going to meet her first schoolmate! They were all going to have lunch at a restaurant in a town right in between Lincolnton and their town!

What was Hermione going to wear? She searched through her whole room for something that looked witchy. There was the black dress she had worn to Great-Uncle Jack's funeral. Too formal. The black slacks and a black t-shirt? Ugh. Black was not her color.

She went downstairs to ask her mother.

"Mom, what's my color?"

Mom didn't even look up from her cup of coffee. "Red or green."

Color! Hermione dashed upstairs. She opened up _Hogwarts: A History._ Colors were important at Hogwarts.

_After the four separate founders selected each their own students, they chose to mark and honor the students by giving them each robes of their favorite colour. Gryffindor chose for his students scarlet robes; Hufflepuff, yellow; Ravenclaw, blue; and Slytherin, green._

"Red or green." She flipped through to the back, to the brief biographies of the four founders. She would go with the color of whoever sounded the neatest. Red was the color of Gryffindor. Godric Gryffindor wanted students who were brave. Hermione didn't feel too brave. She was all shaken up over just meeting another wizard! Perhaps she ought to go with Slytherin's green?

Slytherin believed students should only be selected from "pure" students, whose whole family was Magick, as far back as anyone could tell. No half-bloods, and no muggle-borns. That sounded like racism! And it certainly excluded her!

She came downstairs to show her mother. She wore her red t-shirt and blue jeans. It was a nice t-shirt, and she had ironed it. She picked up her red hat from the front hallway, put it on, and paraded before the breakfast table.

"Very nice," her mother said. "Just one thing." She went to the hall closet, and picked up Hermione's blue hat. She exchanged the two hats, so she was wearing a blue hat and a red shirt. "I lied. Green isn't your color at all." Then she kissed her on the cheek. "You look lovely, darling."

"My hat was red."

"Matching accessories are out. Eat your breakfast."

Hermione sighed and ate her breakfast. Lunch was going to be so much more exciting!

The restaurant was a local diner, just off the main road. The roof was low and the windows were small. The inside had lights all around the place, trying to look brightly lit. The Grangers looked around the place. The people were dressed in flannels and paisley. It looked completely normal. There were Wizards in here? They shrugged to each other.

Hermione noticed a little round boy sitting on a barstool. He spun around in his chair, kicking his feet. The old woman sitting next to him grabbed the stool. It stopped. The boy laughed and waved in his seat, dizzy.

"Look at this hat," Mom said. She pointed at the hat rack near the door. It was large, and green, and had several of the biggest feathers ever seen poking out of it. Mom laughed. Dad smiled and shook his head. Hermione grinned.

The boy at the barstool hopped down. He stopped, waited for his orientation to return, then hopped over to Hermione. "Are you Hermione Granger?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Are you…are you Neville Longbottom?"

He nodded.

This boy Neville Longbottom was dressed in a pressed blue shirt and blue jeans. He wore black shoes. His hair had been moussed into place. He looked so incredibly normal, and in fact, kind of a dork. _He was a wizard?_

Well, looks were deceiving. "How'd you know?" Did he use magic?

He shrugged. "You're the first girl my age to come through here. Oh! I want to show you something!" Hermione watched as he eagerly stuck his hand into his pocket. He frowned, and withdrew his hand, revealing…nothing.

Maybe this was a trick. Hermione waited. But Neville's frown grew more serious. "Trevor! Gran!" he cried to the old woman at the bar. "Gran! I've lost my toad!"

Gran Longbottom and the hostess both looked at him in horror. "Outside!" Gran Longbottom hissed.

"Come on, Hermione," Neville muttered.

She followed him outside. They went around to the back. "I think there's a creek here." They went quietly, their feet crunching on the gravel. Neville led her past the garbage cans and to a small patch of grass, where, indeed, a small brook flowed. He looked up and down the spitting water. Hermione waited. A bird sang. Neville sighed.

"You have a toad?" Hermione ventured.

"Yeah," he said. "My uncle gave it to me."

"Why?"

"I got into Hogwarts."

"That's neat," Hermione said. "My parents just bought clothes and books for me." Although it would be nice to own a cat, a thin, black cat with bright green eyes.

"I almost didn't get in."

Hermione was surprised. "Why not?"

"They thought I was a Squib."

"That's a Muggle born in a Magick family? How can they tell?"

He nodded. "My uncle was always trying to get magic out of me. When I was eight he stuck me out the third-story window by my ankles."

Hermione gasped. "He let you back in, right?"

"He dropped me."

Hermione stared.

"I bounced."

Hermione smiled.

"So they let me into Hogwarts." Neville shrugged. "It's a good school. There's others, but everyone says Hogwarts is the best."

"There's more than one?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah, there's one in Ireland, but it's not as good, I heard. And in Bulgaria and France, and in the States, and all over. My Gran told me." He turned and started walking back to the restaurant. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"When we get to Hogwarts, will you be my friend?"

She looked at him. He was just as nervous about Hogwarts as she was! She smiled. "Sure!" He smiled back.

"Neville! Hermione!"

"That's Gran," Neville said. He yelled, "Yes, Gran?"

"We found your toad!"

Neville took off running. Hermione was just behind him. "Trevor! Where was he?"

"In the kitchen."

"We'll have to eat lunch somewhere else," Mom said meaningfully.

Neville held the toad out to Hermione. It was yellowy-brown and its eyes bulged. "Hermione, meet Trevor. Trevor, this is Hermione."

Neville grinned. Trevor _gurp_ed. Hermione made herself smile.


	8. Jordan

Nothing Mary Sue here, probably Jordan won't pop up in person again, but I wondered how a muggle-born would tell their muggle friends that they were, well, not muggles. I'll get back on track next chapter, I promise.

Enjoy! Remember, I don't own this!

-_The Author_

* * *

Hermione knocked on the Prendergast's door. There was a commotion behind it; dogs and pots and pans and screams and shouts, heels smacking floors, and a small head poked out from the curtains. Hermione waved and smiled. The head disappeared behind the curtains once again.

"JOOOOOORRRDAAAANNN!"

Hermione's friend Jordan opened the door a few moments later. Her curly dark hair was braided with odd butterfly clips, and there was green eyeshadow on her cheeks. Hermione laughed.

"We're playing grown-up," Jordan said.

Three of her little sisters giggled.

"Well, stop it and come to the park with me," Hermione said.

Jordan sighed dramatically and turned to face her sisters. "Girls," she said, "I must bid you _ennui_."

She closed the door. Hermione said, "You do realize that _ennui_ means boring or uninteresting, right?"

"I know that," Jordan said. "_adieu, adieu_," and she punctuated it with a sneeze. Hermione laughed. "Sup? I heard you didn't even get Hill High. What's with that?"

Hermione shrugged. She had wanted to try for Hill Higher Education School before the Hogwarts Letter had arrived. "I just found a better one. You're fine with Lincolnton Public?"

"I'm in love with Lincolnton Public," Jordan nearly sang. "And my parents won't pay for it. We're not all only children of successful dentists."

"I'd love to have sisters. You always have someone to play with. And you usually have the same interests? So you always have something to talk about. And I love your house! There's always something going on!"

Jordan shrugged and rubbed at her cheek. She smeared the eyeshadow a little, making it at least paler, although no less noticeable. They arrived at the park. Hermione sat down on a swing. Jordan sat next to her. Their toes touched the ground. Swinging was more fun when you hopped up to the swing and it practically started swinging for you.

"What's this other school?" Jordan asked. "It sounded perfect for you. Smart and organized and neat. They were measuring the length of the grass, remember?"

"Just a specialty school."

"Oh yeah? What's its specialty?"

Hermione looked at her. No one had told her she couldn't tell anyone she was going to a witch school. And Jordan was her best friend.

"A magic school," she said.

"Magic? How's it magic?" Jordan leaned over in her swing. Her eyes flashed with mischief. She didn't believe her.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble! Fire burn and cauldron bubble!"

Jordan laughed and spun around in her swing. It unspun itself, and she whooped. "Fillet of a fenny snake, in a cauldron of boil and bake!"

They recited the rest of it together:

"_Eye of newt and toe of frog,  
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,  
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,  
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,  
For a charm of powerful trouble,  
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."_

"But seriously," Jordan said. "Where are you going?"

Hermione sat up in her swing. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The finest school of magic in the entire United Kingdom."

"Hogwarts? That's just 'warthog' mixed up!" Jordan laughed. "Fine, don't tell me what your mystery school is! Just promise me you won't let your special private school interfere with your real life!"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jordan twisted in her swing as she spoke. "You know what I mean. You're so focused on school. We wouldn't be friends if Mrs. Miller hadn't assigned us to work on that Triangle Trade project, you know."

Hermione kicked her legs up, sending her backwards a few feet. She pumped her legs, until she made quite a nice pendulum. She looked. Jordan was swinging, too.

"I met a boy from the school, you know."

"Is he cute?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's weird," she said. "He…" he was shockingly normal for a wizard, that's what he was. All of the witches and wizards were. He could have passed for a boy in their old school. "He's nice."

"But is he cute?"

Hermione laughed and shook her head. They swung in silence, feeling the wind in their ears and their hair blowing about. They passed each other, one going up, one going down. Then they passed again, one going down, the other going up.


End file.
